


Some Things We Don't Talk About

by Whreflections



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, References to Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve finds a suicide note in Tony's old physics book, he's not sure how to bring it up or what to even say when he does; all he's sure of is that he can't bear the thought of losing Tony now that he has him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Things We Don't Talk About

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a prompt on the kink meme ages ago, and it's just taken me forever to get it together to actually post(sorry guys! I know some of you have been waiting to have this in a normal post for awhile, X.X). As a side note, I couldn't resist taking this prompt...I've struggled with it myself a couple times in the past, so suicide and in particular suicide prevention is a topic/cause that's near to my heart.
> 
> Betaed by my awesome friend aivalee33, <3 Thaaaank you for helping me make this more presentable, ^^

  
Even after the time he’s been lucky enough to have with him, Steve knows there’s still plenty he doesn’t know about Tony’s past. He feels like he knows Tony himself better than most at this point, but Tony in all those years before he was Iron Man, well that’s something else entirely. He knows it, and even if some of it hurts like the astronomical numbers of one night stands and the sex tapes on the internet and the rumors about drug use it’s still a point in Tony’s life. It’s still something he wants to know more about.   
  
It’s funny, it’s really  _stupid_ , but for just a fleeting second after he finds the note, that’s something that pops into his head. He wanted to know everything, but sometimes you really should be careful what you wish for.   
  
He wasn’t sure what it was when he first started to smooth it out, but it didn’t take him getting too far into it before he could feel the lump in his throat, choking and heavy as mercury.   
  
_You know, I actually sat here wondering who I was going to address this to, but it’s really pointless. Mom’s out of town; I could never let her walk in on this, so that puts it down to you. Or, let’s be honest here, housekeeper of the month, and then you.   
  
You know, I told myself I wasn’t even gonna say I was sorry, but that’s not true. Imagine that, I am actually sorry for something. I’ve tried, you know. I know you don’t think I have, but someone has to be the one to tell you this: nobody graduates high school at 15 for kicks. Don’t get me wrong, I love the work at MIT; I’d have loved it without any input from you, thank you very much but pushing through like I did, that was almost all for your benefit, not mine. At the very least, I thought it might get me off your list of people barely smarter than dirt, but that’s a high bar to reach, isn’t it, dad?   
  
I know I’m never gonna reach it. Sooner or later, I think everyone has to accept that the definition of insanity really is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. And since this is my last chance to be honest, let me just say that I have no idea what the fuck you want from me. The media talks about me like I’m the goddamn golden child of Stark industries and already I’ve found a few ways to be useful to the company, but I have yet to produce a trick worthy of five minutes of your attention. Except for the things I’ve crashed and burned on of course; those you never miss. You don’t want me as a scientist, and you’ve certainly never wanted me as a son, so what role am I supposed to be filling, here? I think you’ve got a failure in logic somewhere, because if you set such high standards for someone, it’s generally expected that they’re actually pointing towards some sort of goal and not straight into a fucking abyss.   
  
I wanted to be you when I was a kid, you know. Kind of hate myself for writing that now, hell, maybe I’ll even cross it out, but there it is. I wanted to be you right up until I realized you didn’t love mom and you sure as hell didn’t love me, and then...   
  
You know, I think this is just about all the writing I can stand. Good talk, dad. Glad we had this conversation.   
  
I know this will just be one more disappointment in my grand list of fuck ups as far as you’re concerned. The media will probably be an ass about it. But if you can do one thing for me, just one, don’t ever let mom see this. Tell her it was an accident. Hell, make my body disappear, and tell her I was kidnapped for all I care, but don’t let her ever find out what I did. You goddamn well owe me that much.   
  
-Tony_  
  
At first, it’s all Steve can do to breathe, because he just can’t  _think_ , can’t do anything but read the words over and over until they blur together and he has to force his eyes shut tight. It doesn’t matter, he has it memorized by that point anyway, and it keeps going, searing in marquee script behind his eyelids. He’s so familiar with that scrawl by now, even recognizes the slightly higher level of shaky disorganization to it that tells him Tony had already been drinking when he wrote this, but not enough that he was wasted. He knew what he was doing, had obviously been planning it, and  _God_ , Steve hasn’t felt like this since…other things he doesn’t want to relive, certainly not just then.   
  
He half wants to crush it in his hand and throw it because he can’t look at it anymore, but at the same time, just as much he wants to lovingly rub out every wrinkle. He can see the scene all too well in his mind, even if he’s probably got much of it wrong. Young Tony sitting at that desk he’s had moved down to the lab that used to be in his room, bending over the paper with that look he gets when he’s thinking about something he’d rather be done with.   
  
Steve wants too much, and his mind can’t focus. For one burning minute, he wishes he had a way to get back to his own time, not so he could stay there but so he could slap this down in front of Howard’s face and give him a cold hard look at what he was going to become. He wanted to force Howard to see that he was going to be the kind of man who could ignore his only child, who could watch Tony falling apart and never lift a damn finger. They’ve never talked about him much, and he’s always got the idea that maybe Tony didn’t want to ruin Steve’s image of the man he knew and trusted, but somewhere in the tumbling mess inside his head anger makes a cameo appearance.   
  
He damn well deserved to know  _this_. He had every right to know how bad it really was, the honest details about the way Howard treated him,  _especially_  because he knew the man. He’d spent all this time thinking pretty well of him, thinking how good it felt to know Howard had kept looking for him all those years ago. Now, it just makes him sick, the sour taste of the whole damned situation coating his mouth. He should’ve decked the bastard when he had the chance.   
  
None of that, though, can take root very long. Not even the anger at Howard. The pain and fear and horror are easily more powerful, and they all churn together in a rising wave that finally chokes everything else out. He doesn’t know what happened to keep Tony from going through with it, doesn’t know how close he came. All he knows is that it came close enough to happening for there to be this evidence, close enough that Tony obviously wanted it. He’s been in love with the most incredible man he’s ever met for months, and now what he holds in his hands is telling him it’s a miracle he ever even had the chance to meet him.   
  
Before he woke up he couldn’t have imagined life in the future, but now he can’t imagine life without Tony.  _His_  Tony, beautiful and amazing and infuriating and loyal. His lungs are working like he’s got ten thousand pounds on his chest, and he needs Tony in his arms, real and warm and  _talking_. He needs it like he’s never needed anything.   
  
“JARVIS?” God, his voice sounds wrecked, even to his own ears.   
  
“Yes, Captain?”   
  
“Is Tony in the lab?”   
  
“Yes, sir. Working on modifications for Black Widow’s knives. He has said that-“  
  
“That he’s not coming to bed until late, I know, he told me.” He had planned to wait up for him anyway. Tony had told him earlier that he could look through these boxes of personal papers Pepper had squirreled away into storage and he’d been planning to grab some of those and maybe a couple old picture albums if he could find them before heading back to their room to wait. He’d gotten absorbed shuffling through the pages without ever leaving the room, though, and then he’d come across this, sticking up from between the pages of an old college physics book. Now, he couldn’t wait.   
  
\------  
  
Getting his thoughts into some kind of order after that isn’t a simple enough process that he can pull it all together by the time he gets downstairs. As a result, he ends up stopping just outside the glass door for a minute, because he needs to take a deep breath or five, and he’s not sure where to begin. Any variation of “Hey, look what I found upstairs” is ridiculously inadequate, and then there’s the question of whether or not he should even mention it at all. That one, though, isn’t that hard to answer because even if there are reasons why he shouldn’t, he won’t be able to keep quiet about this, not with the note still burning a hole in his pocket and his eyelids when he shuts them.   
  
Tony’s bent over a workbench, goggles off though his hair is tousled like the process of ripping them on and off has happened a few times. He’s haphazardly dressed in the way he only ever is if he hasn’t left the house in a day or so, jeans with paint and assorted chemical stains and an old button down shirt that’s gotten too old to wear anywhere else but Pepper must have thought wasn't old enough to throw out. He must’ve gotten hot like he sometimes does in there because it’s unbuttoned and hanging loose and even with the lights on down there Steve can see the glow of the arc reactor over Tony’s hands as he works. He’s painfully beautiful, and the sharp clench that drew Steve with the need to touch him magnifies exponentially until he’s keying in his passcode without even thinking about it.   
  
Tony looks up only briefly at the sound of the door, his eyes back on his work before Steve’s even made it two steps.   
  
“And here I thought you were the one that listened. It’s not even close to my definition of late yet, you know. I told you there wouldn’t be anything interesting in those boxes, but hey if you’re here, think you could go get me some coffee? Or maybe a Java Monster, I know you hate those things but- _oh_. Hey there. “  
  
Saying something first might’ve been a good idea. Whether it’s pathetic or not, he just  _can’t_. The second he reaches him he wraps his arms around Tony from behind, burying his face against his neck. God, he feels good, solid and strong and wonderfully familiar. He smells like sweat and something burnt and metallic but Steve  _could not_  care less. It’s just Tony, and he breathes him in, lips pressed against his skin in something that’s more expanding his points of contact than it is a kiss. He’s not sure if Tony realizes it, but there are a dozen little things Steve notices about him, and he’s loving the way he’s getting a chance to see them change. In the beginning Tony would tense just a little bit when he did something like this, anything that was more intimate than sexual, whether it was holding Tony against his chest or just holding his hand. It was never long and he never pulled away, but it was there, a reticence to accepting that kind of affection that he’d still been holding onto. He hasn’t done that for a while now, and usually it makes Steve smile. Right then, the realization just makes him tighten his grip.   
  
“Ok, not that I don’t appreciate the sudden vise grip, but-“  
  
It’s light and teasing still but the words make Steve wince, and he loosens his grip immediately. “Sorry.”   
  
“Hey, no, I wasn’t complaining, just-“   
  
Steve really doesn’t want to let him finish that question, so he does what he’d been considering anyway and pulls his arms back from around Tony’s chest for only as long as it takes Steve to turn him around. That gives him Tony right there in front of him face to face, and he doesn’t waste any time shutting him up. Tony’s kind of used to this method of being shut up. Sometimes, Steve’s pretty sure Tony’s actually trying to push him to it, but that’s a consideration for another time.   
  
He holds Tony’s face in his hands as he kisses him, thumbs stroking against the edges of his beard, his cheeks, his temples before he runs his fingers back through his hair. He can’t get enough  _touch_ , and he can’t get enough of the taste of Tony in his mouth, either. He barely noticed Tony shifting on the stool at first but there was no way he could miss it once Tony really repositioned himself to leave Steve standing between his legs and pressed just a little closer. It’s like he’s still thinking in shifts and starts, really, because that sparks the same frantic urge for  _closer_  in his brain all over again and his hands leave Tony’s face to grip his hips and haul them flush against each other. Tony moans and Steve coaxes Tony’s tongue deeper into his mouth, sucking lightly in his best approximation of what he’s felt Tony do himself a few times but that he feels like he’s still trying to learn with any measure of finesse. He must be getting there, though, because that gets him Tony’s hands on his ass and a breathless whisper of ‘Fuck,  _Steve_ ’ when they break for a breath.   
  
It’s amazing the way it always is between the two of them, and it  _should_  be leading Steve’s thoughts toward fucking Tony over the top of the workbench, or maybe against the wall if Tony’s picky about not messing up his work(so many times he really  _is_  into what he’s got spread out enough that he still remembers even while he’s moaning into Steve’s ear that he wants his cock and really, Steve thinks that kind of mental capacity is just beyond almost every other man, himself included). That’s all that he  _should_  be thinking about, but it isn’t, it absolutely isn’t. It’s probably crazy, irrational at the very least, but he can’t get past the clawing fear of loss that’s taken root in his chest. Tony’s right there in his arms, as perfectly healthy as he ever gets and lately he’s even seemed  _happy_. It should be enough, but it isn’t. There’s a running litany in his head of how he could’ve lost him, how he almost did and wondering how close it was and how many other times and they say people that consider suicide once are far more likely to consider it again and what if he, oh God, what if…  
  
Tony disengages from the kiss with a slight twitch, still breathing hard as his hands snap to grip Steve’s. They’re shaking, trembling even as they press against Tony’s ribs and he hadn’t even realized it.   
  
“Hey, you wanna tell me what’s going on here? What’s wrong; are you alright?”   
  
_Shit._  Steve tried to close the gap, hide from Tony’s gaze by nuzzling against him but Tony had too much focus once he’d scented a problem and there was no way around having every last bit of his attention in sharp detail. “It’s…I’ll be fine.” It’s stupid to say since he  _knows_  he’s gonna actually bring it up anyway, but it buys him five more seconds and keeps him from saying he  _is_  fine, which is more of a lie than he wants to tell and he knows Tony wouldn’t believe it anyway.   
  
“I can tell. JARVIS? Did-“  
  
“No, Tony, don’t, it’s not…nothing happened, I mean, nothing that he’d have noticed, but…” Tony’s studying him with the kind of intensity that means worry he’s trying to make look like irritation and Steve feels like if there’s a part of his heart that wasn’t already beating against barbed wire, it is now. “Tony, I…” There really is  _no_  good way to say it. Instead, he plunges his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out the note to shove half crumpled into Tony’s hand.   
  
It’s just a ripped out sheet from a yellow legal pad so there’s no spark of recognition at first, not until he unfolds it and his eyes skim the words. There’s a flicker then in his eyes of something unreadable, gone in a flash as he crumples the paper in his hand.   
  
“Thought that was long gone. Dummy, hey.” He snaps his fingers, shifts the wad of paper to his left hand so he can pass it over into the robot’s grip. “Get rid of it.” There’s the click and whine of mechanical movement and then Dummy’s dropping it into the trash, like that’s all it takes to wipe it out of Steve’s mind.   
  
“Tony-“  
  
“There, see? Gone, taken care of.” Tony’s arms wrap around him easily, drawing him in just a little closer. “Ok?”   
  
“Tony…no. No, it’s not ok.” So very far from not ok, and even though it’s Tony Steve can’t help but be a little dumfounded that he thinks throwing it away will make Steve feel better. Honestly, part of him kind of wants to fish it out of the trash and keep but he’s not even sure on the why for that either, other than the fact that just tossing it aside like it means nothing seems wrong. “Tony-“  
  
“ _Don’t_ , don’t say it like that, like I- Look, Steve, I was a kid, ok? There were a couple times that seemed like my best option-“  
  
“A  _couple_?”   
  
“-but obviously, it worked out in the end, right? Pretty sure the rate of teen suicide in this country is astronomical so it’s not like I’m really standing out of the crowd on this one. I mean if you look at all the factors, it’d be more surprising if I hadn’t ever considered it.”   
  
There’s something even more horrifying about the matter of fact way he says it like it was not only inevitable but  _alright_ , about the way he won’t meet Steve’s eyes. When he grabs Tony’s shoulders Steve feels like he’s probably gripping too hard but he can’t bring himself to ease up. He needs Tony to  _look_  at him, genuine eye contact and realize that he’s not going to let him make this trivial when they both know it isn’t.   
  
“No,  _you_  don’t. Don’t act like this is nothing. Tony, you could’ve…” For a second he has an image in his head of Tony a few weeks before, limp in his arms after a hit to the head had almost knocked him out. He’s seen pictures of Tony as a teenager and his imagination is too good sometimes. He can see it all, in multiple versions. “Why didn’t you tell me?”   
  
“Seriously? What conversation do you think that would’ve come up in, exactly? ‘What’s for dinner, baby? Oh by the way, there was this time years ago I tried to kill myself.’ “ He has to have felt Steve flinch at the words, couldn’t miss it but he pulls away anyway, pushing off his stool and stepping up to the next table over to start manipulating knife projections. “Jesus, Steve, it’s ancient history, alright? It’s irrelevant; just let it go.”   
  
“ _Irrelevant_? Right, cause the fact that you were capable of writing  _that_ -” He points behind him even though Tony couldn’t see, the renewed urge to go pick it up and wave it around nagging at him. “-I’m supposed to pretend that’s not serious just because you pull up some crap about other kids that might’ve done the same thing? That doesn’t make it alright, Tony. If it’s true then it’s just a sign of problems everywhere but honestly, the only one of them I’m worried about right now is you.”  
  
“Worrying retroactively is an exercise in futility. There’s nothing-“  
  
“Don’t tell me that’s nothing for me to be upset about, I-“  
  
“I didn’t say it wasn’t hard on you, why do you think I got rid of it? I said-“  
  
“What if it was me?” Tony actually stops moving for that, everything about the sudden tension in his frame telling Steve he’s finally managed to knock through past the façade that this is  _nothing_ , easy and unimportant.   
  
“You wouldn’t.”   
  
“But what if I did?”   
  
“You’re better than that, Steve. Trust me, you wouldn’t.”   
  
“Sorry, but that’s bullshit.” Tony’s still frozen, hasn’t moved since Steve brought himself into the subject and even though he’s not sure touching him right now is the best idea, it’s all he wants. He’s careful about it, like reaching out to a horse that might spook. It’s just one hand against Tony’s back at first, right against his spine, and Steve can feel the deep breath he takes. “It’s not a matter of being better or worse than anyone else. Not at all. So for argument’s sake, if I  _had_ considered it-” Steve cuts Tony off as he tries to speak, grabbing his wrist to spin him around the minute he hears the slightest noise that’s not yet a word. He’s trapped between Steve and the table, and even though he didn’t put up a fight, he’s still resolutely got his eyes down, trained on Steve’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. “-if I had, think about that, and then tell me it’s unreasonable for me to worry. For it to scare the  _hell_  out of me. You look at me and tell me you can’t understand that, tell me you’d accept it if I told you everything was alright.”   
  
Tony’s utterly silent, utterly still, too, and pale as death, so Steve’s already got his answer but he gives him the time anyway, watches him swallow hard and keep staring at Steve’s hand like it’s going to give him the answer.   
  
“Can we not talk about this?” He sounds so subdued, so achingly  _quiet_  that Steve’s resolve to make him talk wavers. There’s things about this he’s desperate to know, about how it happened and about the odds of it ever happening again (though that one, he’s definitely not sure how to ask), but he doesn’t want any of that if it means pushing too far. He’s lucky enough to have Tony with him, and maybe he should just shut up and count his blessings.   
  
“It was in one of your old books. Physics. I thought maybe it was some old notes I wouldn’t understand but then once I started reading I realized what it was, and I felt like…” Like he’d failed him, even though he knew  _that_  was ridiculous. There was nothing at all he could’ve done, and maybe that was part of the worst of it. He rubs his thumb over the inside of Tony’s wrist as he thinks, trying to stabilize them both a little by the circles he brushes against his skin. Tony thrives on touch, despite how much he wants the world to think he doesn’t. “I wish I’d been there for you.”   
  
“ _God_ , I don’t.” It hurts, a sharp stab that lasts only until Tony catches all the way up with his mouth and  _finally_  looks up to meet Steve’s eyes. “No, it’s not like that, it’s- Fuck, Steve, I was a wreck. I’d never wish that on you.”   
  
There’s a lot wrong with that, from the fact that he’s been what Steve considers a wreck not too far back, so the thought of a level of worse far enough beyond that for Tony to shield him from it is frankly terrifying not to mention the part where Steve’s  _told_  him he loves him, enough that he’d like to think Tony was starting to get the message. There shouldn’t be anything they keep each other from, even if it’s far from pretty. Especially then.   
  
“Well I would. I realize getting you to accept this is gonna be the uphill battle of my life, but you can’t push me away. Not now, not even if you try.”   
  
“Yeah? Give it time.” His walls are inching back up, Steve can see it in the way he’s almost smiling and ironically enough, he’s kind of grateful for it. They have to talk sometimes, and Tony has to learn how to let him in, but he’s already seen enough to know that Tony’s rarely more dangerous to himself than when he feels vulnerable. He can’t push, not more than a little at a time. “Hey.” Tony clears his throat, tugs his arm away from Steve’s grip to reach up and run his fingers through his hair. His arm comes to rest around Steve’s neck, curled lightly across his shoulders. “Look, I…you’re right, I can’t imagine, and I’m sorry you had to see that, ok? For what it’s worth, if I’d remembered I’d have gotten rid of it before you found it.”   
  
It’s so opposite from what he wants that he kinds of wants to scream, or at least sigh and bury his head in his hands because Tony just refuses to understand, sometimes. Sure, there was a part of him that wanted to forget, to wash the images he kept imagining out of his brain, but he wasn’t a child. At some point during growing up, everyone had to realize that the things you wouldn’t like didn’t disappear just because you didn’t know they had happened.   
  
“That’s not what I want. I just want you to talk to me, tell me what happened.”   
  
“You know what happened; I’m fine. Obviously, I changed my mind.”   
  
“ _Tony_ -“  
  
“Steve, no, alright?  _No_. Can you trust me on this and just realize that sometimes there are things you really  _don’t want to know_? Some things don’t need details. It’s done, it’s over, I’m alright, nothing for you to worry about, ok?”   
  
He wanted to believe that, he really did. That it was all in the past and it mostly didn’t really matter beyond how much it hurt because it would never be relevant again, but in a way, that was sort of the core of everything, the real truth under the panic.   
  
It made him sick to think it, but he wasn’t all that surprised, not when he really looked down deep where he had to be honest. Tony could self-destruct like no one he’d ever seen, and after all suicide was just a final act of self-destruction. Even though Tony had been doing better, even though everything between them had been great, he felt like he couldn’t be sure that capability would ever cease to be there in the background, even if he hated himself a little for wondering.   
  
It’s on the tip of his tongue, the words ‘Promise me, then. Tell me you’d never do it now.’, but he can’t force it out around the fear of what his answer might be. He wraps his arms around Tony’s waist, holds him close enough that Tony can’t see the way he squeezes his eyes shut tight as he whispers, “I don’t want to worry about it. Just tell me I don’t have to.” And maybe if he does, one day Steve can actually believe it.   
  
Tony anchors his hand in Steve’s hair, turns his head to kiss his way across Steve’s jaw until he reaches his lips. His kiss is achingly slow, gentle like he can’t possibly kiss him with enough deliberation. His fingers are flexing against Steve’s neck, his right hand on the back of Steve’s head to keep him pulled down to Tony’s height. He’s breathing hot against Steve’s lips between kisses, whispering his name and kissing the corners of his lips and snagging his teeth on the bottom one and it’s clear that this is Tony’s answer, the only one he’s going to get. Everything between them, it’s becoming something larger than both of them, and for now the fact that that means something is going to have to be enough to put a lid on his fear.   
  
Tony squeezes the back of his neck hard enough to get his attention, dips his head to rest it against Steve’s shoulder while he properly catches his breath. They fit together like this as if they’d been made for it, Tony wrapped up in his arms and just the right height next to him that their bodies slot so easily together. Some things, Steve thinks, are inherently perfect long before you ever get the chance to realize it.   
  
“You wanna call it a night? I say we call it a night. This’ll keep till tomorrow.”   
  
He should feel guilty for taking Tony away from Natasha’s project, really, but he doesn’t quite have it in him yet. Tomorrow, maybe, but not yet. Still, he asks anyway.   
  
“I’ll be ok, Tony, you don’t have to.” But God, he hopes he will, because he still feels like his chest has been cracked open and shoved back together and if he can take Tony to their bed and make love to him and watch Tony fall asleep beside him, maybe that's all he needs to start to block the words out of his head. Tony lips are wet against his neck, a last kiss before he pulls away.   
  
“C’mon, you coming to bed with me or not?”   
  
It takes two steps for him to catch up, one more to grab Tony’s hand and thread their fingers together. There’s been something dark in Tony’s eyes ever since the whole conversation started, even the moments when he was trying to shake Steve off, but it’s not until then that it actually seems to begin to lift.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
As soon as the door’s shut, the lights come on. Tony has JARVIS set up to his specifications everywhere, but in his own rooms it’s always down to a perfect science. It’s convenient and all of that, of course it is, but it’s all set to  _Tony’s_ preferences he’s accumulated over the years and some of them Steve contradicts.   
  
“JARVIS, can you cut it down a little?” They’ve done this song and dance before so he knows JARVIS knows what he means, confirms it with a soft ‘Of course, Captain’ before dimming it down to something that comes close to candlelight. He loves to see Tony, God yeah, and there’s a lot to be said for dazzling light and ease of staring, like Tony stretched out naked in front of him on the carpet by the windows at noon. But there’s just something intangibly  _right_  about it like this, dim lights and atmosphere and the way his fingers are lit by the arc reactor as he steps up behind Tony and slides his hands up his chest.   
  
“Your hands are warm.” Tony mutters, his head twisted to press his lips against Steve’s neck. He loves that, loves kissing him there and biting and sucking until he leaves marks that won’t last but that he loves the look of on Steve’s skin. For Steve, that’s the hottest part of it, the way Tony’s eyes burn when he looks at his handiwork, the pride and lust and _possession_  in his eyes when he dips his head to run his tongue over the mark again. He loves that he’s Tony’s, but he loves even more the moments that Tony knows it, when he glories in it like he can’t proclaim it enough.   
  
He buries his fingers in Tony’s hair to keep his head right there, keep him sucking just over Steve’s pulse until it’s too much and he pulls Tony’s lips back up to his with a hungry groan. His right hand is still splayed against Tony’s stomach, and though Tony might not be as built as he is he’s just right, a little softer though Steve can still feel the eager twitch of muscle under his fingers as they kiss. Sometimes, he thinks he could kiss Tony forever. The intimacy of it, his taste, the way Tony moans for him, it’s all  _his_  and familiar and yet different every time, every second. Part of him wants that, to just anchor Tony to him and kiss him, keep going and find out how strung out they could really make each other, whether he could push it far enough that Tony would come the minute he cupped a hand over the front of his jeans.   
  
The thought is blisteringly hot, and he can feel the tips of his ears heat as he twists his angle to bite into Tony’s neck, muffling the obscenely eager sound he can’t hope to stop against his skin. It’s a thought, maybe one he’ll even manage to get across one day but it’s not right for just then, not right for the way he’s craving Tony’s arms around him as his body takes Steve in.   
  
He licks his lips, swipes his tongue slowly over the teeth marks he can see even in the dim light. Tony’s breath hitches, stuttering further when Steve nuzzles against him, lips brushing his ear.   
  
“You’re so beautiful.”   
  
“Least someone around here appreciates it.” Some of the mockery gets lost in the pitch of his voice, dropped low with arousal, and anyway, Steve knows him. He’ll joke and deflect and act like he knows it, because sure, narcissist he most certainly is. There’s this split about him though, a duality most people don’t realize because even though he believes he deserves all the stares he gets, at the same time he really  _doesn’t_  believe it. He’s sure that the world loves to look at him, even sure that they  _should_ …he’s just not sure why, because in his eyes, he’s so many terrible things, so far tarnished. So he might deflect it, but Steve will take that a hundred times because Tony needs to hear it, needs to know that when Steve looks at him sometimes he can’t believe that this gorgeous man is his.   
  
Steve rubs a slow circle against Tony’s belly, inching closer to the waist of his jeans.   
  
“Oh, I appreciate it.”   
  
“You’d appreciate it more with fewer clothes, you know.”   
  
“Mm.” He catches Tony in another kiss, taking his mouth until Tony whines and presses forward into his hand, his hips making a little aborted thrust against his hold. Steve’s cock twitches in his jeans, and he can’t resist some movement of his own, rubbing against Tony’s ass as he holds him tight. He’s never been with anyone but Tony, and that was probably the first thing he started to realize about himself, like this: He pulls Tony to him like he’ll die if he doesn’t, holds him close or holds him down and for all the times he’s started to worry if it’s too much he’s swiped it aside, because all Tony ever does is shudder and cry out and press closer. He writhes against him, never twisting away but always just that little bit closer, his arms always wrapping around to dig a hard grip into Steve if those arms are free. He doesn’t melt into him, he _blazes_ , takes everything Steve gives and keeps right on drawing him in, like if Steve could crawl under his skin it still wouldn’t be close enough. Tony can be affectionate with him anywhere (sometimes too much and all over the place, but that’s something else), but he’s only like  _this_  when it’s just the two of them, when Steve is the only one that sees.   
  
He wants that, always. He wants to be the one that knows the things about Tony that he tries to hide, wants to think that from him Tony won’t even try to hide them. He knows better than to think he’ll ever know everything because no one ever does, not about anyone, but if he can be the one Tony trusts with the most of himself he can give, that’ll be good enough. Far more than good enough. And if he trusts him like that, if he knows Tony that well then he has to believe that however he might lose him, he won’t ever lose Tony to himself. He’d see it happening first; see it coming in enough time to catch him.   
  
He’s been holding Tony with his back against Steve’s chest but he’s ever impatient and he finally twists around, fumbling with Steve’s buttons as he struggles to keep kissing him and pay as little attention to the work of his hands as possible. Even then it’s quick, his fingers finding their way to Steve’s chest, and he’s instantly tracing the outlines of Steve’s abs with the pads of his thumbs. Steve sucks in a sharp breath, electrified by the feel of Tony’s hands on his skin. They’re rough, always calloused and frequently cut and burned and he’d know them anywhere. Maybe he  _is_  just old fashioned, as obsolete as they sometimes tease that he is, but he loves that for him it’s only ever just been Tony, that other than his own those hands on his body are all he knows.   
  
His hands slide down Tony’s shoulders to push his shirt to the ground, following the motion all the way down until his hands are on Tony’s, until he can link their fingers together and feel the way Tony squeezes his when he dips his head to trace Tony’s collarbone with his tongue. When Tony tugs his hand away, Steve thinks he’ll reach for the shirt hanging off his own shoulders, and his breath stutters as Tony palms his cock through the front of his jeans.   
  
“Jesus, Steve,  _fuck_.” He reaches for Steve’s belt, only fumbles in his attempts to work it open when Steve’s lips nuzzle at his ear.   
  
“Tony, let me-“  
  
“ _Yes_.”   
  
He’s ridiculous, really. Always. Ridiculous and insatiable and Steve’s got so much  _fondness_  for the crazy now that it rarely sounds crazy anymore, just makes him chuckle low in his throat and make sure he’s holding him as close as he can. “You didn’t even let me ask.”   
  
“The fact that you think you have to ask to fuck me is either a sign of insanity or memory loss, so I’m not sure which one I should be hoping for, here. Maybe-“  
  
Steve cuts him off with a kiss, because really, that  _is_  easily the best way of shutting him up once he gets going. Except sometimes, he tries to keep going, words tumbling half breathless from his lips like there was never an interruption.   
  
“-I don’t know, we should get that looked at; I worry about you sometimes big guy, you-“  
  
Usually, that kind of thing is irritating, but for now he still can’t get enough  _Tony_ , not in any form, and that kind of incessant rambling, that’s him all over. Someday he’s going to be  _inside_  him and Tony’s going to be lecturing him on how long it took him to get naked or his tempo or hell, his TV choices or something and it will drive Steve out of his mind. But tonight, tonight it’s just good and familiar and reassuring, so he doesn’t tell him to shut up like he might have before. He just picks Tony up and moves him the five steps back it takes to deposit him down on their bed. Honestly, that shuts him up anyway.   
  
Steve shakes his shirt off before he lets Tony pull him back in. Their jeans they take care of together, impatient hands shoving them down their hips and off until it’s all just bare skin and Steve’s hands are rubbing Tony’s hips with insistent intent. He has to pull them away somehow, has to reach over for the drawer and the lube and get this started before he’s so desperate that all he wants is just  _this_ , but that’s so hard to do with Tony grinding against him, bucking up harder every time Steve’s grip tightens or his lips press to Tony’s skin. Tony’s arms are around his back, hands making their way up and down his spine, and pulling away would take far more strength than he has. Instead he pours all the desperate conflicting  _want_  of it into Tony, fucking his mouth with his tongue the way he’d like to be taking the rest of him. Tony could never be accused of  _under_ -reaction. His nails dig into Steve’s shoulders to leave more marks that won’t last, and when they break away he mutters out a string of curses that would’ve made Steve blush a couple months ago.   
  
After a couple of breaths full of those, he rambles around to the point.   
  
“Steve,  _Steve_ , if you don’t-“  
  
“I will, I will, just…just let me up, just give me-“  
  
“ _Fuck_ , I don’t need-“  
  
“You know I won’t do it without it.” Because he  _won’t_ , no matter how much Tony begs. He feels guilty enough thinking that he’s left marks on Tony’s body before he hadn’t meant to leave behind. If he ever hurts Tony like  _that_ , he’ll never forgive himself. Tony’s the kind to completely ignore how ready he isn’t until it’s over, and even if he claims he’d never regret it, Steve’s never going to let him have the chance to even need to face that question.   
  
Still, he’s quick as he spreads the lube over his fingers, barely rubbing the first against the sensitive opening before he slides it in. Tony’s all impatience, squirming and grinding down against his hand and really, he  _does_  take Steve in like he’s been doing it his whole life. Most of the time that’s something Steve would rather not think about, but if he shuts the rest out and just thinks of  _this_ , maybe someday they might could pull this off with just Tony’s spit slicked onto his fingers. Maybe.   
  
Just one stroke or so past three fingers, he can’t wait anymore. The momentary lack of actively rutting against Tony’s body has left some space for the rest of the night to crowd back in, and though he’s still hard and aching he’s also thinking about all kinds of aches and a myriad of empty spaces and what his life might’ve been like if a young Tony Stark hadn’t decided to change his mind.   
  
He shoves a pillow under Tony’s hips just before he slides in because he wants it like  _that_ , intimate and completely face to face and as close to Tony as he can possibly physically get. His body clenches hot around Steve’s cock, drawing him in, but it’s secondary to the way Tony holds him, to the way his own arms find their way around Tony’s back to hook around his shoulders and cling too tight. Steve’s hips aren’t snapping in hard to meet him; they can’t, too caught up in the jumble of his mind and Tony’s hands and his breath on Steve’s cheek to do anything but take this slow. It’s a minute or two before he realizes he’s shaking again like he did in the workshop, like he was when he fell to his knees on a still moving train after he watched Bucky fall away from his outstretched hand. Just like before, too, he’s pretty sure Tony notices first, can feel it in the way his breath catches before he reaches up to card his fingers through Steve’s hair. It’s just a caress, no insistent tugs to pull his lips anywhere else, just Tony’s hands soothing him without a word as he kisses his way down the column of Steve’s neck.   
  
Dammit, but he should be comforting Tony right now. He dredged up old memories and shoved what had to be a painful reminder of one of the low points of his life into the man’s hands, and he  _should_  be comforting Tony, but here the man is comforting  _him_ , like he’s fine, like Steve’s the only one haunted by the past. He shouldn’t be taking it, should say that he’s fine, but he needs it and really, he’s not ashamed. Not here, not with Tony who’s coming to know him better than he believed someone else ever could. He needs this, every inch of Tony he can get. Even if he still tends to practice moderation, with Tony he’s going to have to admit he’s gotten pretty greedy.   
  
“Tony,  _please_.” He’s not even sure what he’s asking for when he gasps the words against his skin, his eyes shut tight against a sharp insistent sting, but Tony knows.   
  
He grips the back of Steve’s neck, shifts them into just the right position to kiss his forehead. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s alright.”  
  
He’s pretty sure that all he needs is Tony’s voice, that he could be saying anything and it wouldn’t matter, but when it comes right down to it, those words do sound pretty good. Even if it’s stupid, he loves the way it sounds, loves the spark in his chest that wants to believe. He drops his head to rest next to Tony’s, nuzzles against his hair and just breathes, eyes still closed. Tony’s everything around him, the voice in his ear and his scent and his hands and the searing heat around his cock that just keeps drawing him in closer and closer.   
  
“Fuck,  _look_  at you.” There’s awe in Tony’s voice he absently thinks is completely undeserved, but that thought can’t really take root when he’s focusing everything he’s got on not coming before he brings Tony with him. He shifts his weight a little more to the arms he’s still got wrapped tight around the man beneath him, gives himself a little more leverage to rock harder into his body. He hits him just right he knows, can tell by the way Tony arches his neck and keens like Steve just sent a shock up his spine. Tony’s name falls from his lips, shuddering and weak, and Tony swallows it with a kiss.   
  
“God, you’re right there, aren’t you? Come on, Steve, come for me, I want to watch you come for me, Jesus, you-“  
  
It’s all Steve has in him not to listen, not to fall right over the edge like Tony wants but he bites his lip until the can feel the blood welling against his teeth. “Tony,  _no_ , you…” He doesn’t have the will left to explain why it can’t be, why he’s always gonna be like this because to him it’s not about stereotyped gender roles or any other bullshit that Tony tries to tell him it’s about, it’s just about taking care of his partner ,and if he can help it, he’s never going to give in and take his own pleasure before he feels Tony give in to his. Not when he’s inside him like this, not unless  _he’s_  the one taking Tony in. He just shakes his head, feels the soft huff of a sigh that Tony doesn’t even bother to try and make exasperated, and he feels the tremor in his shoulders when Tony laves at his rapid pulse with a soft tongue.   
  
“You are the most impossible, ridiculous-“ It’s a rant he’ll pick back up when he’s got the proper attention for it, but he gives it up as a lost cause right then, twists his hips up a little farther and tightens his legs around Steve. “Shit, Steve, talk, anything, I don’t care, just-“  
  
“Tony, I…” If he keeps the one arm around him he can get his right hand around Tony’s cock, at least for a minute. It’s not the best angle and he couldn’t maintain it, but it’s a warm grip around firm flesh and God, Tony’s leaking so much over his fingers he probably could’ve come without it, just off Steve’s cock and holding back, holding back is taking  _everything_. “Tony, I love you.”   
  
It’s not just the words, he knows it isn’t, it can’t be because there’s his hand, too, and there’s the way he’s still thrusting deep and smooth and it’s all of it together, no one thing singled out. Steve knows, he  _knows_ , but it still takes him apart when Tony comes in his arms after that with a strangled wordless cry. He lets himself go after that, pumps his release into Tony’s welcoming body and forces himself to remember that even if he wants to he can’t collapse like this, has to roll over and off him and away from the sticky warmth of everything to lay on cooler sheets at his side.   
  
Tony’s panting, a sound that turns half into laughter as he twists around to throw his arm back over Steve. “Dirty talk is going to be forever beyond you, isn’t it?”   
  
He might’ve managed to say that he can’t help it, that at a time like that what he wants to say is everything that might not be quite so obvious. Buried inside Tony like that it should be pretty clear that he feels unbelievable around his cock, that’s it’s mind-blowing in ways he could’ve never dreamed in all those years in the ice, all the years of jerking off quietly in the dark that came before. The way he holds him tighter every time he does it should make it kind of evident that the sounds Tony makes do things to him he could never explain. Next time they’re separated and Tony wants to try phone sex again (the first time did  _not_  go well), he kind of  _does_  want to tell him that he could easily get off on that, just a few strokes from his own hand and the way Tony moans that’s so ridiculously obscene. He’d like to think there’s a few of those sounds at least that Tony’s only ever made for him. But except for that last bit about the phones, everything Tony seems to think he should easily talk about is the kind of thing he believes doesn’t need words because it’s just not the kind of thing you talk about; it isn’t necessary when your body can say it all for you.   
  
‘I love you’, now  _that’s_  something that needs verbalizing, something he doesn’t think he can ever tell Tony enough because God knows he’s had a shortage of the words up until this point. Steve has a lot of ground to cover.   
  
So he might have managed to say something about part of it, how he can’t help but say what he feels rather than what he’s physically  _doing_  but Tony, ever the interrupter, doesn’t give him time.   
  
He twists his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulls his mouth down to Tony’s still slightly laughing one. It’s sloppy and barely structured enough to be a kiss, but it stills makes his skin tingle with heat. “Fuck, I love you.” It’s breathless when Tony says it, quick and with his eyes closed, and though Steve’s heard the words quite a few times now it never gets any less special. Somehow he’s managed to get the love of someone who’s so afraid to admit it, but he’s here in Steve’s arms actually saying it out loud and how did he ever get so lucky? He knows it’s still fragile, what he’s got, and he’s doing his best to shield it like it’s spun glass. He’d do anything to be everything Tony ever needs him to be, and he just hopes that for the rest of his life, he’s going to get to try his hand at exactly that.   
  
In everything that’s important, they always seem to fit. Tony’s just right against his side, and he doesn’t mind it, settles into it instead. He’s on his back, Steve’s arm draped over his chest, and he hums low in satisfaction when Steve flattens his palm over the arc reactor to feel its quiet hum. It’s another thing that gives Tony to him, every single day, and he loves it for that, for the way he can feel its steady rhythm as it lends the same stability to the beat of Tony’s heart. Tony runs himself until he drops if he’s got his own choice and times like this when he’s so close to sleep it tends to hit him with irresistible force. His eyelids flutter, and he turns his head until his face is half buried against Steve’s shoulder.   
  
“Steve?”   
  
He’s so sleepy the word barely comes out whole, and Steve leans in to kiss his chest just beside where his own spread hand still rests.   
  
“Go to sleep, Tony. I’m right here.”   
  
For a long time, he just watches. Tony sleeping beside him has been enough to hold his attention before, but right then, he just can’t tear his eyes away from the rise and fall of his chest, from the way he can see his eyelids flutter as he dreams in the dim blue light of the arc reactor, the only light they have now that JARVIS has cut the lights as they grew quiet. He keeps his hand on Tony’s chest just beside it, and every now and then he can’t help but slide his thumb across the narrow strip of skin between his fingers and warm metal. Tony’s the heaviest sleeper he’s ever seen, and he doesn’t doubt for a second that he’ll have his chance to watch undisturbed until daylight tries to sneak in around Tony’s amazing shades and he finally gives in and falls asleep himself.   
  
He’s sure of it, right up until Tony’s breath abruptly catches, his eyes opening as his hand snaps up to grab Steve’s wrist. It’s something Steve’s well used to by now, the way Tony sometimes wakes like he’s been shocked, his startled movements just short of lashing out. It made him feel guilty the first time, enough that he’d tried to apologize, but Tony’s muttered embarrassed apology had made him realize it had all of nothing to do with him and likely everything to do with months in a cave and the kinds of things that had happened there that Tony never spoke of. He still hasn’t spoken of it to Steve, not ever really, but Steve’s learned how to help him with that tiny portion of it at least, and he freezes, just keeps his palm pressed flat to Tony’s skin and doesn’t try to pull away.   
  
Tony’s breath evens, and he tugs Steve’s hand up to his lips like it was what he’d been doing all along. His lips are dry and warm against Steve’s knuckles, and Steve smiles at the soft ‘Hey’ he barely hears but feels against his skin.   
  
“Hey.” Steve echoes him, pulls his hand away to rake his fingers through Tony’s hair. In his eyes it never looks better than it does like this, all ruffled from his touch and rolling around together in these sheets. There’s part of him that wants to see it like that all the time, but the last time Tony came to a meeting looking that disheveled he had barely been able to focus on a word Fury had said and he’d felt terrible about it. Well, he’d felt terrible later. Right after the meeting he hadn’t felt anything but  _want_ , and he’d dragged Tony into the nearest empty room and kissed him senseless up against the shut door.   
  
“You’re still awake.” Tony’s voice still comes out a little heavy with sleep, dragged down the way it always is when he’s pulled from sleep and not directly handed his coffee. Because he  _can_ , Steve buries his fingers in Tony’s hair again.   
  
“Yeah, still awake. Watching you.”   
  
“Some people would find that creepy, you know.” They might, sure, but as he says it Tony’s legs are tangling casually with his and he’s pulling Steve down for a kiss, so it seems pretty safe to say Tony’s well outside the realm of ‘some people.’ The kiss is warm and lazy, all slow paced tongue, but though Tony groans contently into his mouth there’s no heat of intent behind it. When Tony pulls away Steve loosens his grip to let Tony turn in his arms, molding their bodies just a little closer together with his back pressed against Steve’s chest. Steve moves with him, shifting to drape his arm more comfortably across Tony’s side, enveloping Tony in a way that used to get him a few sarcastic comments until Tony stopped pretending not to like it.   
  
It’s warm and comfortable and even though Steve still can’t conjure up ‘sleepy’ for himself he’s pretty sure Tony has to be close to dropping back off. Instead, he feels the low vibration of Tony’s voice against his chest as he speaks.   
  
“I was sixteen.” It’s like his heart dams up the blood its holding, holds it back like bated breath before giving him back things like circulation and thought and the ability to speak (which it’s probably good he didn’t initially have, because he might have said something, and he doesn’t always know what to do, but right now it’s obvious he needs to keep his mouth shut and just let Tony talk). “I’d just come home for Christmas vacation from MIT. Mom was off visiting an old friend in Jersey; she left before I got back otherwise she’d have wanted to take me with her. She loved showing me off, but I was always too busy to go. She was gone, and I’d already been stuck here in the house with dad two days and I-” He took a deep breath, words rushing together quicker the second he picked back up. “It’s funny, it was an accident at first, I’d been thinking about it on and off , but I hadn’t made a move; I was working on a new robot down in the lab and I cut my hand on this…this stupid little unnecessary piece I was trying to take off. Ended up bleeding everywhere before I could get a rag to wrap around it and I just thought…”   
  
Thoughts Steve could’ve gone his whole life without knowing, undoubtedly. The air around them feels so heavy. It’s pressing on the back of Steve’s neck, cold and strong and oppressive, and even though he’d been trying not to move a muscle he buries his face against the back of Tony’s neck. Somewhere in his mind there’s the thought that he feels like a kid, hiding his eyes from something he doesn’t want to see, and it’s stupid because there’s nothing to  _see_ , but Tony’s skin is warm and the breath Steve takes immerses him in his scent and he feels like the next breath will come just a little easier.   
  
“I just realized how easy it’d be to make it look like an accident, especially with how much I felt like I knew then. I mean, I was pitiful compared to- Point is, back then, I was pretty well assured I was hot enough shit to make it look like I’d thought I had everything under control when I didn’t, to rig up the perfect accident. I’d already had it out with dad that afternoon and it was…the thought of not having to deal with that ever again had a hell of a lot in its favor. I just couldn’t stop thinking about it after that and I remember sitting there on the bench and thinking…there is literally no downside to this, and I mean at the time I was thinking how fucking hilarious that was, that out of everything I had, that was the one thing that I thought was gonna give me the best future. So I-” Tony takes a deep breath, possibly steeling himself against the rest, possibly because Steve’s holding him tight enough that he can feel Tony’s ribs expand.   
  
“-I got me another drink, and I thought about it some more and decided that was it, that was as good as it was gonna get; the sooner the better. Decided against the robots ‘cause I thought mom might figure it out, which I kinda hated because I kept thinking, how many people have died by  _robot_? But pills were less conspicuous and they’d fit my image for the press’s benefit anyway and it’d be straight up impossible to prove. Went and got the bottle, had a drink, wrote the letter…” There’s a sigh in the words as he shifts, not moving away but just inching nowhere, like it’s his own skin he’s uncomfortable in. Steve finds his hand without ever looking up, and though there’s a little hesitation before Tony’s fingers tangle with his once they do his grip is tight.   
  
“It was so close. I mean, I  _wanted_  it, but…I just…with me gone, she’d be left with dad. That was it, the only reason I couldn’t because I didn’t know what he’d do…I didn’t trust him with her. Tossed the bottle out the window, shoved the letter in a book and mostly forgot all about it until a few months later when I ended up basically repeating the process with the same results. The accident was just two months after that.”   
  
The implication is as clear as it is nauseating, the fact that if Howard had lived there’s a good chance he’d have come back to it again and again until his personal form of Russian roulette finally landed on a day when he decided to risk it. Steve never met Maria, but he’s never wished more that he could thank someone in person.   
  
“Tony-”  
  
“We’re not gonna talk about this anymore, Steve. You wanted to know, and I told you, and that’s it, end of discussion.” It’s not harsh, not exactly, but there’s a rough finality to the words that tells him it’s absolute. For now, at least.   
  
He nods, knows Tony can feel it but he whispers against his spine anyway. “Ok.”   
  
“Ok.” Tony fidgets with the hand still covered by Steve’s, not quite letting go just shifting until the grip is loose. His hand is so small next to Steve’s, so small and so strong and so casually resting there like there’s nothing more natural. “Do you feel better?”   
  
Honestly, Steve doesn’t have the faintest idea. He wanted to know, sure, but partially for knowing’s sake and partially so they can talk and partially to make at least a few of the more gruesome images that keep assaulting his head fade but none of that means he actually feels better. At the moment, he mostly feels nauseous and guilty and like even if he does everything he can to be there for Tony for the rest of his life, it’ll never really be enough.   
  
“I don’t know.”   
  
Tony actually laughs, quick and sharp and mostly under his breath but it’s there, and Steve wants to think that’s a good sign. “Yeah, me either.” He’d like to think that’s true, because if it is then there’s at least a chance that maybe getting it all out was a little good for him, that maybe Steve hasn’t been entirely selfish.   
  
Steve turns his head to kiss Tony’s shoulder, his lips trailing nowhere special and stopping only when he feels Tony lean into him. It’s staggering, really, what they have, what  _he_  has right there in his arms. He’d have slept another 70 years under the ice for this, easy.   
  
“Thank you.” He doesn’t expect Tony to acknowledge it, not really, not when he’s said they’re done talking, but he has to say it anyway to make sure Tony knows that whether he feels better or not, the gift of that kind of trust in itself is enough to fill him with gratitude and wonder, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe the answer should’ve been that yeah, he feels better, not because he knows everything but because Tony told him to try to make him feel better, and sometimes, sometimes it really is the thought that counts.   
  
“Will you go to sleep already? I don’t wanna be woken up again by your incessant brooding. It’s loud.”   
  
He smiles, lips still pressed to Tony’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’ll go to sleep, promise.”   
  
“You better.”   
  
He does, but not at first. He waits, feels Tony go limp and sleepy in his arms. He tries after that, lets his eyes get heavy and tries to push everything else out of his mind but it’s only half working, and he wonders once or twice in a drowsy way if he should just give up on it. Eventually Tony turns in his sleep, draping over Steve and settling to hold on without ever cracking an eye. Tony told him once that he’d always hated sharing a bed with anyone, that he never slept beside his lovers if he could help it, that even then he kept to his space. His pillow, his side, his blankets.   
  
Tony’s leg is between his, his arm slung over Steve’s ribs, and his breath an even tempo against Steve’s skin where his head nestles against Steve’s neck. It’s like this, completely covered and immobile and enveloped, that Steve finally falls asleep. 


End file.
